The Boy with Lily's Eyes
by apcl09
Summary: Short essays. A look into different characters' eyes from a different perspective. What ifs, tragedies, death, and contemplations. (#3 Screw the World, HP/DM)
1. The End

**AN: Severus muses about Lily. One-sided SS/LE.**

**Disclaimer****: I don't own Harry Potter! **

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**The Boy with Lily's Eyes**

_The End_

Every time Severus Snape looked into Harry Potter's eyes, his heart deceives him once more. That treacherous and vile thing hammered quickly with hope as he peered into what he once thought to be his beloved Lily's. Then as quickly as the feeling went, it has gone; for he was reminder of the bitter truth: Lily is dead. And he, Severus Snape, had lent a hand in her demise. His stomach clenched with unwanted guilt. He wanted so desperately to die each time he was reminded of that fact. The only comfort he would have is shroud of the night, mixed with the warmth of Madam Rosmerta's strongest Firewhiskey that he would ingest every night.

Harry Potter was never 'The Boy Who Lived' to him. He was always 'The Boy with Lily Potter's – no, Evans (he refused to think that his precious Lily was Potter's) – Wonderfully Green Eyes'. Severus despised him for being born; for being the product of her and that imbecile James Potter's _love_. Yet he loved his Lily so dearly, it hurt. But at the same time, Severus saw Lily and could not help but _love_ his eyes. In a twisted sense, he cared for that boy because of Lily and only Lily.

Severus and Lily were once close; almost glued to the hip if it weren't for their respective families. They were the best of friends even before they had gone to that wretched school that taught them magic and separation. He loved her then, and still loves her now. But he knew even years back in their Fifth Year of education that the moment he so stupidly uttered the word 'Mudblood' to her face, she was lost forever. It had been a moment of extreme anger and weakness; he had not meant to shout it at her face. The look of shock and the hurt that flashed in her eyes before it turned into anger broke his heart into millions of pieces. Severus Snape was always reminded of that time whenever The Boy with Her Eyes glared at him. He would suppress the shudder that threatened to erupt and the urge to get down on his knees and apologize profusely. Oh, he would have done everything to take it all back; to see his Lily happy again; to see her _alive_.

He knew it had been a foolish mistake to tell the prophecy to his Lord. Hell, it was a mistake to join Him and His stupid league of Death Eaters. As quick as one could say Dumbledore's whole name, she was dead. It was Halloween then when He struck. Severus remembered hugging dear Lily's body as he cried. If he knew that this was to be the outcome, then he would have never done it. Their time was just too short. It was unfair. Everything was unfair. Lily Evans had so much life in her that it seemed impossible to see her lying on the floor with her lifeless eyes staring back at Severus. He then took an oath to himself to see that her monster of a baby was alive; he owed Lily his life for her death, after all.

'_Lily? After all this time?'_

_Always._

Before Severus Snape could contentedly die, he needed to see her eyes to remind him of everything he had worked for; for what he would die for. Nagini struck her fangs at him, and the Dark Lord left him to die.

Harry Potter came out of from where he was hiding; for once in his life, he got what he wanted. He would have laughed at the choice of whoever was up there for granting him a wish before he faced death. Harry Potter is, and would always be The Boy with Lily Evans' Eyes: the one and only reminder for what he has been fighting for since her death. But in that moment, he has finally accepted that Lily was never his. The last image that entered his mind was he and a young Lily, sitting close near a pond. He allowed himself that one last blissful thought, before he was known to The Boy with Her Eyes as the bravest man who ever lived.

_I love you, Lily Potter._

He took one last breath before he, too, like his beloved Lily, perished.


	2. Unrequited

**AN: Yeah, this was supposed to be solely focused on Severus and Lily. But I couldn't help it. A one-sided James/Severus for people who'd bother. And again, I own not Harry Potter.**

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**The Boy with Lily's Eyes**

_Unrequited_

I insulted him. I pushed him around. I threatened him. I teased him. I was a horrible person to him—well, I guess I still am. And I was satisfied.

Why?

Because I had his full and undivided attention.

Though he looked at me with contempt (and anger and spite), I relished the way those emotions were directed _at me_. Me and only me. His eyes burned with passionate hatred and I cannot help but adore him more.

I must be a masochist. Or a sadist, if you didn't know me better.

I loved him—I still do, actually—yet he hates me. It hurts when his sharp tongue lashes out against me (metaphorically speaking, of course). My heart is torn into shreds whenever I intentionally insult his overly large, beak-like nose (that I honestly find gorgeous) and his greasy hair (that is actually soft. I know it is because I've had the privilege to touch it). Yet I do it because I know it attracts his attention, albeit negatively.

When I first saw him with Lily Evans, jealousy gnawed at my heart. I could not, would not allow him to be with her. Never.

So I resolved to get Evans away from him.

She insulted me. She pushed me around. She threatened me. She called me an arrogant, attention-seeking toerag. And she fell in love with me.

She wasn't Severus, but I couldn't push her away, because she pushed Severus away for me.

I remember that moment when Evans finally left Severus clearly. I was happy, oh so deliriously happy, that I forgot the implication of my actions.

I think he hated me more than he hated his father that day. A huge accomplishment, if I do say so myself, but please note the sarcasm.

The charade carried on. I was still the arrogant and mighty Gryffindor and he was still the slimy and greasy Slytherin. It hurts and I can't do anything to stop the pain. I love him so, so much. But the damage is too large. Everything is my entire fault. . .

As I've said, the charade carried on. I did what I was expected to do: hate Slytherins, play pranks, date Evans, win the Quidditch Cup, and goad Severus. I couldn't stop doing what they want me to do. I wanted to act on my feelings, to apologize to him, but I couldn't find the courage to act. Some kind of Gryffindor I am.

Years passed since the incident. I proposed to Evans at the end of our Seventh Year. I suppose I should start calling her Lily now. We got married a year after, and later conceived a baby. I was numb by then, but he was still constantly on my mind. I can't even say his name anymore. . .

Little Harry was born on the 31st of July the following year. Harry James Potter. . . In my mind I call him the boy with Lily's eyes; the eyes of the woman I married, and the woman whom _he_ loves. But I can't hate Harry. No, I love him.

In our time together, I guess I learned to love her, too. It wasn't like the all-consuming and _natural_ love I felt for _him_, but it was slow, agonizing, and strangely platonic fondness. It eases my heart that I never have to say 'I love you' through my teeth to her again.

I guess I loved her enough to die for her.

On the eve of Halloween, the Dark Lord struck. I knew I was going to die.

"_Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"_

I have three regrets in my life. The first was hurting Severus (I love you; I'm sorry, please forgive me). The second was not protecting Harry enough (My little Prongslet. . . Daddy loves you). The third was—

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

James Potter's lifeless body fell with a thud. Somewhere far away, the body of a young man with greasy hair shivered.


	3. Screw the World

**AN: Wow, two in a day. I'm feeling rather proud of myself. So let me present to you my third drabble, Screw the World. HP/DM, anyone?**

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**The Boy with Lily's Eyes**

_Screw the World_

Draco Malfoy tasted like sin.

I never thought that I would ever experience this wonderfully sweet anomaly myself. It was like taking a bite from the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden and wanting more despite the wrongness; like having this unexplainably perverse pleasure in doing something you should not be doing; like feeling the intoxicating thrill that a psychopath feels when it kills. It was immoral. Wrong. Sinful. Yet… so damn right, like a missing piece of a puzzle that I've never noticed before being suddenly found.

How did this happen?

He and I started a tentative friendship after the war. But there was always the presence of a barrier between us. Of course, being schoolyard enemies for the past seven years made us wary with each other. His eyes were always guarded; his back stiff and shoulders tense. Add in the fact that he owes me his life, this understanding we have is obviously strained.

But being my Gryffindor and noble self, I continued our friendship.

At first we only met through formal dinners. Though the Malfoys were known Death Eaters, they were still _the Malfoys_, a pureblood family known throughout the continent. I started talking to him every time we come across each other (which was scarcely). We tried to avoid arguments.

Five years later Ginny and I had a fight. It wasn't like the usual pointless arguments all couples have; she accused me of cheating, of neglecting her and our relationship. I wasn't cheating, of course, but I stormed off from our house (yes, we're married). I apparated at Hogsmeade with no particular plan in mind. I walked around, my hands in my pocket, and entered the Hog's Head.

I ordered a glass of Firewhisky and promised to myself that I'd stop after finishing the glass.

I broke that promise.

Unbeknownst to my alcohol-addled mind, Malfoy was sitting beside me. Why he was there I did not know. Everything was hazy, my words were slurring. The Daily Prophet is going to have a field day.

For some unknown reason, Malfoy decided that I needed to get home. He guided me out from the pub into the dark streets of Hogsmeade (since when did the sun disappear?). He was speaking to me but I could barely understand the words coming out of his mouth. I had this sudden urge to kiss him and—

So I did.

Thankfully we were hidden from view; I seriously didn't know what would have happened if anyone were to see.

My lips were on his, hands tightly gripping my narrow hips and it felt oh so right and oh so wrong at the same time. Everything around the two of us (the humid air of passion, the tight tension of immorality, the fog of lust—_everything_) drove me to the brink of insanity. My breath was hitching, my heart rate kept increasing, and the places where his wandering hands touched _burned_ like the fiery of a thousand suns. It was as if I was on fire yet drowning at the same time, for I could not breathe and I was suffocating with his sheer intoxicating scent and burning, talented hands. My mind was a hazy mess, scrambled with passion and thoughts that, on normal circumstances, would never have swam up the surface of my normally clear mind. To make things worse (or better), his lips against mine parted and his tongue was added to this whole chaos; a chaos which I never want to be stopped.

Again, he tasted like sin.

And I probably tasted like alcohol.

He was the right kind of wrong. I wanted him all for myself. I wanted to feel every inch of his beautifully sculpted body against mine _forever_.

I never want him to stop.

We were suddenly in a room (when did he apparate us here?) and clothes were strewn around. I was gasping for air, hands were grasping all around my body. It felt so wonderful. I felt so alive.

I would probably regret this in the morning when I wake up with a pounding headache and a Draco Malfoy wrapped around me like a blanket. Yet I couldn't find it in me to stop. Screw Ginny, screw the Daily Prophet, and screw the world.


End file.
